Im fine with both! Normally I would prefer a partner that would be fine with switching between the two with me.

Favorite Genres:

Dark Fantasy, Modern Sci-Fi, Apocalyptic and Horror. (In that order)

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Anime, and some Fandoms.

Dark was here fast in the small town of Oak Village, a storm brewing in the distance. The villagers paid no mind to the coming storm, their focus on the strange coming of travelers from all over the lands. Many people in the village traveled to the many taverns in the small town, while others shopped in the heavily light market square. Joyful music echoed around the city, despite the thunder growing closer. A play is being held in a field next to the west gate, a common play where the king of Sarok slayed the mighty Rat King!

The small church in thee center of town held open doors, despite no one inside but one man in robes, praying to an almost forgotten god, the Hawk.

In a large, crowded tavern, most people laid their eyes on the large, scaly Crocdilan eating raw beef. ​

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week

My Usual Online Time:

9 A.M to 12 P.M - 6 P.M to 1 A.M

Writing Levels:

Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Primarily Prefer Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Balanced; more aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance,

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Yaoi, Yuri, Pg-13 crap

Straw sandals carried an unknown, and distinguished vagabond through the doors of the church. Churches. They were much like monasteries. Yet the gods here were...unusual. This man was fully dressed for war it appeared; a large heavy, wood club with steel studs capable of smashing a charging steeds legs. He had two swords neatly tucked in the girdle of his left hip--both a longer, curved sword of high quality and a second that was only just slightly lightly shorter. But in his right armored hand he held a lengthy pole arm.

His armor alone could inspire the dread of an assassin or warlord. Yet this man waited patiently for cloaked man to finish his prayer. Was he there to kill this man? His demonic face mask of steel that made him appear to be giving him a sneer. Once he felt he had been patient enough he let the stylized pommel connect with the the solid oak of the ground. It was hard to fathom; his people had always been aware of the supernatural and the dead. This place was no different. He could feel the mystic energies swarming around him.

The candles dimly lit his metallic face., it was a ghastly visage of steel and mimicked ogre far more fearsome than mere orcs. His armor was unlike any had seen and though it looked cumbersome, he was more than ready to show how manageable and how swift he could move in it. The outer plates were high carbon steel, this protected mainly from bodkins. The under layers-were layered bamboo and thick silk. He had a smirking ornate face mask on and something that could be considered an armored choker. Either way, this man was formidably dressed."So this is the place people seek refuge..."

This user has been banned for: Disruptive behavior, harassment, and inability to heed repeated staff warnings

Im fine with both! Normally I would prefer a partner that would be fine with switching between the two with me.

Favorite Genres:

Dark Fantasy, Modern Sci-Fi, Apocalyptic and Horror. (In that order)

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Anime, and some Fandoms.

Kwah quietly finished his prayer, hearing heavy boots behind him. Turning the the heavily armored figure, Kwah was caught of guard to see the strange, evil look mask the man wore. Partially worried and partially curious, Kwah answered the man "Many used to see this as a place of refuge, safety even, but nowadays people seek refuge behind the walls of a castle, and with weapons at the ready." Kwah trailed off and walked toward the man nodding "I am Brother Kwah, Preacher of the Hawk, and who might you be warrior?"

The flesh was ripped messily from the mouth of the Crocdilian , Keeen sat alone next to the bar, a large piece of cow sat in front of him. As he picked the last of it clean, he heard some members of the Road start to sing outside the tavern in the play being held as several kids sat eagerly, their eyes glued on the entertainers. Watching from the window, he saw the sings in the back, made up of two humans(one female), two elves (both female), a dwarf, and an orc.(both males). Another armored figure walked out onto the stage, some pork tied around his belt.

"There was a Human WarriorSo gallant and strongWith Ratzi heads on his hipsHe travels all night long

When ever the warrior was aroundall the gals would sing real proud **The men don't sing this part, only the three women, as if they were speaking to each other**"Here comes the warrior, so fierce and brave!They say he killed the Ratzi king! Oh what shall we say?"

As the girls pretended to fluff up their hair and chat to the warrior, an elven lady walked onto the stage, wielding a bow and several arrows in a quiver. Getting back into place, the girls and the guys sung again

'" There is the Elven QueenSo quick and freeWith arrows of silver She swung from tree to tree!

When ever the Queen was aroundAll the men would say all around town**Ladies don't sing this part, and the men act if they were talking to each other**"Have you seen the fair lady walking the streets?I saw her this morning look at me!"

The men all argued with each other saying the Queen look at them, and the woman all looked jealous. As they all quieted down, The dwarf stepped onto the stage alone and sung low.

"There was an old dwarf who drank all his meadHe sat around moping, cursing his greedHe watched a tavern, wanting to join, instead he was an actor working for coin!

Strange this dwarf beBecause this dwarf be me!"

Sickened by the play, Keeen growled lowly standing up moving away from the window and towards the bar area he called out loudly through the crowd "Bartender, More meatssss and mead" He finished reaching the bar, the s rolling out longer than most people would say it.

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week

My Usual Online Time:

9 A.M to 12 P.M - 6 P.M to 1 A.M

Writing Levels:

Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Primarily Prefer Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Balanced; more aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance,

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Yaoi, Yuri, Pg-13 crap

The temple was aglow with the light of flames. But they weren't seeds of destruction, but rather pyres of these people's faith in this god 'Hawk'. But despite the braziers and torches, the ornate decor of his armor left many parts of his body shielded from the warm glow. Silks of various colors dressed various small metal plates that decorate and hold the armor together, the various rivets, and the ornaments. His armor was adorned in crests of unfamiliar lords and lands. While intimidating, the many ornate layers were beautifully colored in exuberant colors. And unlike most knights who reeked of sweat and nefarious odors, this man had a floral aroma wafting about him, with the distinct hint of plum.

To say this man must've been a hearty warrior would have been an understatement. For he stood with two swords, one long and the highly lacquered and polished sheaths that were peculiarly curved--were worn edge up to making drawing, killing and sheathing the weapon as efficient as possible. But not only did he wear them, tucked through his girdle at his waist reminiscent of the way the older man would have brandished a talisman to symbolize who he was. He had attached to the back, a large wooden club, but this weapon had very many steel 'studs' in it, reinforcing and making it deceptively destructive. The wood had been fashioned to form a thick, octagonal shape about three feet long before the final two feet tapered , the handle having a 'ribbed' appearance with a thick spherical shaped knob to act as a counter-weight. Also, fashioned to the back of his hips, a bow haft unlike any normally seen in these parts.

The Daikyu is the Japanese version of the European longbow, and is utilized in much the same way to much the same effect. The bow is constructed of bamboo, and as such is relatively lightweight compared to some other bows constructed of solid wood. Typically the bamboo is cut into strips and then 'woven' together in layers around a core of wood to form a very strong, but quite flexible frame. The construction of a Daikyu, from the gathering of materials to the weaving and then finishing, was done by a single person.

"Many used to see this as a place of refuge, safety even, but nowadays people seek refuge behind the walls of a castle, and with weapons at the ready."

"A man should always prepare himself for death. For life is a fleeting dream we vaguely remember when the end is nigh. We are but ripples in water; we all must cease waking." The warrior spoke, his eyes on the flames nearest to the alter.

"You should be careful who you let wander near your temple monk. I foiled the plot of brigands trespassing and taking up residence in here. I overheard them while I sipped my tea. So I followed them. There were thirty in number, I cut them down to nine, the rest fled. That is why I have come. To render my services, I spilled blood on your hallowed ground. I would be remiss if I didn't offer."

"I am Brother Kwah, Preacher of the Hawk, and who might you be warrior?" The elderly man stepped forth, no longer unsettled by his frightening appearance."I am Ayakashi Rin." The samurai made a slight bowing gesture in show of respect. "It is good to see you Brother Kwah, Preacher of the Hawk."​

​

Ruthgar was as boisterous, and unmannerly as ever. He had wandered into the tavern--much to everyone's sheer shock at how big the Orc was. Standing upright, he was clearly seven foot tall atleast and at nearly five-hundred pounds he was a specimen you had to stop what you were doing and ponder--were you really THAT drunk?

His arms alone had left many a man--armed or not--pouring their drinks and overfilling their gaping mouths or their mugs. Was their such a size as "Muscle so big you could fit a head in it"? His hand could crush those heads. Much like a well-disciplined warrior might crack a walnut in his palm: one tight squeeze and the bones just...gave way. His legs looked to be as stout as a warhorses flanks.

That was good. Those kinds of attributes were needed when carrying an impossibly heavy axe--which he did with one hand. Whenever he'd turn, the whole room seemed to shift from side to side until the orc--funnily enough-- shouted "Sit der fuck down! You're making me nervous!" Everyone did as was told, and the orc found himself a nice cozy spot, laying in front of the fire place on the floor and with a casket--yes, a casket of ale. Because drinking from a mug was too fucking complicated for Orcs.

You spilled it if you didn't pour it right.
You had to KEEP re-pouring it.
Then there was the most rudimentary rule of all: More is just fucking better.

Now in the midst of the cheer and festivities--and in his drunkenness after his third casket paid for with a fresh bear pelt...and the bear meat. Paid for with a bear, that's currency, right? It should be! He was telling of how he ripped a man's spinal column entirely out of the anatomy of someone who he's fought a while back--paused to hoist the barrel up on one arm, and drink ravenously before indulging in a boisterous burp before finishing with:

"Anywho! I said to the rest of the fellas--see I told you your leader had no backbone for the job!" He began an uproarious laughter.​

This user has been banned for: Disruptive behavior, harassment, and inability to heed repeated staff warnings

Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.

Favorite Genres:

Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.

Genre You DON'T Like:

Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!

Cirdan took a deep breath and stretched wearily, long arms reaching over the top of his head. He rolled his shoulders fluidly, briefly taking some of the strain from the heavy pack he wore off of his hips. His tall boots were covered in dust, and his wide brimmed hat was washed out from the sun.

Cirdan had decided to resume his travels less than a month ago. He hadn't known what had drawn him away from his meditations in the Orc Jungles, but nor had he ever been one to object to the following of a whim. One never knew where whims might lead you, and for a man who sought adventure there was nothing better than a whim.

This particular whim had led him far north, into the kingdom of Sarok, to a small village that would normally not have even caused him to pause. However, he felt his feet slow naturally, and turned his attention to scrutinize the small town. He stared in its general direction, eyes half-lidded, arms hanging limply by his side, before nodding, turning sharply, and heading into town. Compared to some of the cities in Sarok, it was nothing to boast about. The noise was contained to a reasonable level, which meant that there couldn't be too many people, and the dark walls were not so tall that they could not be scaled, free hand, with relative ease.

Not that there was a need for such shenanigans. The gates were flung wide open, warmly inviting anyone who might wish to stop, rest, perhaps have a few, or a few too many, drinks at the local tavern. Cirdan nodded to the guard posted by one of the gates, tipping his hat back obligingly to allow the man to see his face. He heard the guard let out a surprised gasp, and the sound of his feet shuffling on the tight-packed dirt near the edge of the gate. Cirdan stopped affably, allowing the man to approach. It was not uncommon that he would be stopped by any guard worth his pay; people with a face as scarred as his were normally the ones who caused trouble.

He was courteous to the guard, setting down his pack willingly to allow it to be searched. The guard pawed through the blanket, ropes, fabric, and other items stuffed inside, before turning his attention back to Cirdan. Cirdan, however, was staring rather vacantly at the other side of his pack. He heard the guard stand up, and promptly switched his attention to the proper location. He could feel the weight of the guards eyes across his face, before the man finally seemed to connect the scars, the strange, milky blue caliber to his eyes, and his apparently blank stare. The guard muttered a hasty something that could have almost been an apology, before finishing looking through the pack and offering it back. Cirdan took it with another smile, feeling absolutely no guilt for playing the guard a little bit. It was true that he was mostly blind, but nor did that mean he was as harmless as he was acting. He picked up his pack, swung it over his shoulders, and set off through the gates.

He might spend a couple of days here, recover from the journey north. He was in no hurry, and the town seemed plesant enough. Besides, his desire to travel north seemed to have completely vacated him, and now that it was gone he could feel the aching in the soles of his feet and his back, begging for a night in a bed rather than on the ground, and a day where the only walking he might have to do was to the table for breakfast. He stretched his arms over his head and took another deep breath, before quickly wrinkling his nose. A bath wouldn't hurt either.

He was waylaid on his way to an inn by the smell of freshly baked bread. He paused, biting the corner of his lip, before shrugging and changing course. The baker would not object to a customer, no matter how smelly.

A few minutes later he was walking down the road again, a golden-brown and delightfully fluffy loaf of bread clasped lightly in one hand. He ripped off a mouthful, closing his eyes happily and navigating through the crowded street by sound and sense alone.

The inn he finally stopped at was more than reasonable. A few coins later and he was settled into a room, a steaming tub of water next to the window. He grinned. eagerly dropping his pack and stripping, before sliding into the hot water. Sighing with pleasure, he sunk down until only his nose was poking out.

One delightful hour later, and Cirdan was the cleanest he had been in months, and had left the water delightfully scuzzy. He turned to his pack, rooting through it until he felt a relatively clean set of clothes. He donned them hastily, tied a black sash about his waist, and firmly placed his hat over his head, leaving his pointed ears sticking aslant from the side of his head. He then swung his pack over one shoulder, departed his room, and descended the stairs. He sidestepped a serving girl who walked out backwards from the tavern portion of the inn and quickly made his way over to the door, which he departed through with no small measure of relief. After an extended stretch of solitude it was far too easy to forget how noisy most people got.

With a crooked grin he set off into the city, determined to find and enjoy some of the finer attributes of civilization.

Cirdan wandered through the town quite at random, remarkably pleased with himself. He whistled slightly under his breath, almost certain he was the only one who could hear the sweet notes over the babble of the surrounding traffic. He turned down one street out of curiosity, only immediately to turn off of it again at the first alley to his left.

It was quieter in the alley than almost anywhere he had been in the city so far. The tight walls seemed to block sound, and any echoes were carried up and out. He paused, leaning against a wall and letting out a soft breath. He was somewhat disappointed with himself right now. He had fought for his right to freedom among the orcs, survived countless bandit attacks convinced they could take on a lone wanderer, had meditated for two weeks on top of the tallest mountain he could climb in Iron Rock. And here he was, afraid of a large number of people.

He might have been justified. While it was possible for him to track a single enemy in combat, the overwhelming tides of people crushed his usual sensing abilities, leaving him feeling as though he was floundering. Briefly he regretted not pursuing a method to heal his eyes, before shoving the thought out of his head. He tipped his hat down so that it covered his face, before standing upright and walking out of the alley. This was simply one more challenge he would have to overcome. With a deep breath, he brought all of his seventy years of training to bear, and stepped out among the tide, completely blind in sight, aware of the energies of everyone around him through pure willpower and skill.

He wandered like this until he began to feel comfortable, and then sped up his pace, dodging left and right through the people rushing at him. Then, suddenly, he stopped quite by random, right in the middle of the road. The dwarf, hauling a rather large hand-drawn wagon, who had been following along behind him had to veer suddenly to the side.

"Watch where you are going, idjit!" He bellowed with all of his considerable lung power. Cirdan would have laughed, as the comment could not have been more inappropriate, but the dwarf was already long gone. He laughed anyways, uncaring of the strange looks it would certainly draw. He then turned to the reason for his sudden halt, a small, neat tavern that had drawn his attention. He wandered in, rucksack swinging from one shoulder, before taking the first vacant chair he found.

He knew that there was someone at the table with him, but with his hat pulled down all he knew for sure was that it was a warrior. He, however, appeared to external eyes completely oblivious to the fact that he was not alone in the room.

That was the last caravan for those Svwingar Delmons she was ever going to do! At least they payed her well, Tandi hefted the coin pouch and did a side faced grin at the sound and weight of it. Stuffing it an safe place, she she stepped out into the street. Now, the next thing was to find a bath and a good meal then get totally blitzed on some excellent rum. No swill for her tonight!

She grabbed the next person to walk by and asked where the best bath house was and after receiving the directions, she thanked them and was off with a whistled tune on her lips and a snappy jaunt in her steps. A good two hours later and with new cloths on to boot Tandara, with prunish hands walked out of the bathing establishment and headed across the way to the local tavern to wash the dust out of her mouth.

She bellied up to the bar and ordered her rum and took a sip while the bar tender watched with a growing smile as she gasped for air and coughed a bit. The first drink always did that to her no matter if it was the next day or even a year later and the good stuff would make her face go red.

"Awh, see lass I told ye it was the best! HAW haw ha! No one has dah rum like me!" He accepted her offered coin and set the bottle down for her and walked off to see to another customer. Tandra sipped her precious rum enjoying the warmth that flooded her body. Then decided perhaps she had find a table to sit at. She turned around looking for one, finding it ( a very small table for one or two with a stool) she settled down at it for the evening.

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week

My Usual Online Time:

9 A.M to 12 P.M - 6 P.M to 1 A.M

Writing Levels:

Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Primarily Prefer Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Balanced; more aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance,

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Yaoi, Yuri, Pg-13 crap

Ruthgar turned his head, stirred from his drunken stupor by the vaguest of scents. The wafting of aromas much too great for any human's or even elf's nostrils to pick up on, But Ruthgar wasn't a human and he damn sure wasn't a pretty-boy elf. Them sons of bitches were much too flimsy! No, he was something more stalwart. He was an Orc! But what had caught his keen intrest wasn't a female Orc, nor was it human--there were too many of those as it was. It wasn't wasn't Elven. Elves had a particularly saccharine scent. Not to say what he smelled wasn't sweet, but it had a particular pungency.

Moss. The distinc odor of damp, dead wood. All the familiar redolence of home. That of the outdoors, of the wilds of nature and all her untamed potential. The harmonics and tempo changed in the song, and as the Orc sharply inhaled--his toothy looking countenance only furthered in its smugness by his sneer as he wiped his frothy bearded face with one huge limb. When he finally manged to his feet--falling over a near four or five times-- but of course having consumed more ale in one sitting than most do in their entire life span he fumbled over to the bar.

Still holding the rather intimidating chopping axe that was rather rudimentry to his kind--but to all else, his massive hands the imagination tended to wander astray with thoughts of cruelty and viciousness his kind were known for. Afterall, war is what Orcs did best, and they did it often too!

"Eh! you der!" He hollered at the barkeep. " Imma take this here I'll go fetch you another bear when I'm done!"

It was quite honestly a simple say so. However...when you have a seven foot nearly five hundred pound Orc, who loved to drink waving an axe around haphazardly--you tended to agree with said Orc quite hurriedly.

Ruthgar stared stupidly at the man, then scratching his chin. "Wha..?" He completely moronic about the situation.

"I'mma take this now." Ruthgar complied, wrapping one heavily muscled arm around the barrel and lifting it with ease before totting it across the room to the exotic scent who was the newest addition to the bar--Tandara.

Gleefully setting it down on the table with no small amount of restraint as it would cause the dishes, silverware and even her mug to clatter or spill even. But that was okay, because she was about to invited by an Orc to indulge her alcoholic appetite.

"Why hello there missy." He grunted. "I happen to like the way you smell so I brought it upon myself to buy you a drink!" It was a compliment, I promise!

"You might fool everyone else but you can't out smell an Orc! We might smell bad but we smell good too!"

Well, that could have gone a bit better. Still, gotta give the guy props for trying right?

​

This user has been banned for: Disruptive behavior, harassment, and inability to heed repeated staff warnings

Abel was tired. He wanted food and then he wanted to rest. Abel had just spent the last, who knows how many, hours performing. Dancing around the town, using whatever element he could a the time. He did even use two or three at a time, which is why he is so damned tired. Granted, he did gain a fair amount of coin from doing it, so his tiredness was worth it.

He trudged down the streets of people, getting bumped into and pushed around because of his slow and tired movements.'Damn... I did too much today... Haven't done that much in forever,' he thought begrudgingly to himself as he looked around for a tavern or inn or something. After what seemed like forever, he had found what seemed to be quite the nice tavern... and it was the first he saw, so he went in and instantly found a table and sat down.
He was soon greeted by a kind waitress and he sleeplily ordered his food. He began eating and was about to fall asleep before he even finished. Just as he was about to finish up his food, someone sat down at the table. He was about to leave, but he seemed to actuallly recognize this person. It was someone from the Road. He had only seen the other not even a handful of times, but they were at least aquainted.

"Hey... You're... Cirdan, right?"he asked softly. He was pretty sure the other really wasn't one for convesation, but Abel was bored and he knew absolutely no one here. The only reason he was in this town is because it was an easy way for him to make good amounts of coin... he just didn't know it would have taken so much energy.

If the other didn't respond or give off a lot of conversation, he would just retire for the night. It seemed as though a storm was coming, so he would sleep through the night like a little baby, unless rudely awoken.

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Just wonderful, the world was so kind, soooo caring. Tandara had imbibed of only a half of her first bottle and a few moments of unwinding pleasure when a mountain landed on her tiny table with a resounding 'WHOMP!' setting all the crockery to rattling and even a few crashing to the floor. Well, that's what happens when the maids don't clean up fast enough, she thought as she looked down at the broken salt dish. Then she noticed the giant foot, then looking up slowly she saw what the foot was attached too and that it was speaking to her.

"...you smell so I brought it upon myself to buy you a drink! You might fool everyone else but you can't out smell an Orc! We might smell bad but we smell good too!" A frown came across Tandara's face at the words coming from the Orc's mouth until the part about buying a drink for her came through her befuddlement over the dishes. Then she smiled and waved to the table and said, "Not the best line I have ever heard but it will do just fine if you back it up with that drink!" She waited for the big fellow to find a chair and settle himself down on it as she pulled another swig on the bottle, sadly, the glass she had had was one of the casualties on the floor.

Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.

Favorite Genres:

Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.

Genre You DON'T Like:

Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!

Cirdan looked up in surprise as the person sitting across from him spoke. He leaned forward slightly, tipping the hat back from his head to peer at the blurry figure on the far side of the table. Cirdan couldn't make out many details of his new companion, but that didn't really matter. The glance was more for appearances sake anyways. He had alternative methods of identifying those around him.

Cirdan had always been good at recognizing people by their attitudes, by the energies they emitted, and he had honed that talent since he had lost his sight. There was something very familiar about the person who sat across from him. He had met many people, and had probably only met this person once or twice, but even still his energy was quite unique. The name was sitting in the front of his mouth, he just had to remember it...

"Abel," Cirdan replied with a nod of his head, finding the name and convincing himself that it was the one that belonged to the young man sitting across from him. "I'm impressed that you remember me. We've only crossed paths a couple of times."

At this point one of the servers walked up to the table, ready to take the new customer's order. She smiled blandly as Cirdan turned to face her, used by this point to seeing all sorts of strange folk in the city. A scarred elf was nothing out of the ordinary. Cirdan quickly ordered a plate of fried fish and a small glass of wine, and the woman nodded before wandering away to see to a rather boisterous mercenary who was making a mess of a bowl of chips in the corner of the room.

"How have you been?" Cirdan asked, turning his attention back to Abel.

Abel nodded. It was true. They had only met maybe twice, but he didn't really forget name when he heard them. "I don't much easily forget names."He said softly. Sure, he was quiet most of the tmime, but he was still a pretty happy-go-lucky guy most of the time."I've been good. Performing here and there. Earning coin. Just got done with one performance. I'm tired now though." He finished his sentance with a lighthearted, soft laugh.

"How have you been? Haven't seen you around the others for a long while."By others, he meant the Road. Abel was actually kind of tight-knit witht eh other members. He tended to use the facilities and join the others a lot and he sees a lot of them, but he hadn't seen Cirdan for a while. "Please don't take offense, but I think I'm surprised you have taken such care of yourself on your blindness. I don't mean that in a bad way, I find it quite endearing, actually."He said.

Although the man did have his fair share of scars, he was being well kept up for someone of his condidtion.'He must have some very strong abilites to be as good as he is.'Abel yawned quietly. he was tired, but he hadn't had a civil conversation in such a while. He was actually enjoying himself. He just felt it easier to talk to a fellow member of the Road.

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Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Writing Levels:

Intermediate, Adept

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Halfway between? I can sway either way, depending on my mood.

Favorite Genres:

Almost anything pertaining to space, mechas being number one. In addition, I also quite enjoy those based around genetics and such. I also like fantasy, enjoying those involving supernatural/mythical creatures. Modern fantasy are alright, depending on how much of an element the fantasy has.

Genre You DON'T Like:

Modern, because I roleplay to avoid the real world. Anything reflecting everyday life is a no go.

The village, in the dead of night, was a great beacon in the darkness. And, like all beacons, this one served as the guiding light for lost souls. His cloak was tattered as it swung about his smaller frame, green eyes eyeing every shadow warily. Hand clenched tight around the shard in his gauntlet, the ratzerl could see the phantoms just beyond his sight. Heart pounding, he could almost feel the blades hovering above his shoulder, poised to strike. A surge of adrenaline flooded his system as felt himself running. Objectively, he knew that he wasn't himself right now. He was one of those small ratzi, fleeing from the slightest sound as the darkness enveloped him. All that kept him going was the light in the distance.

Slowly, the lights became distinct, the great beacon spreading into legions of small ones. Stumbling across a barely seen stone, Strath managed to barely recover before planting in the dirt. Regaining his sense of balance, he managed to walk the last hundred meters to the edge of the massive pools of light. Hearing the jabbering of men, he stopped to slowly let his mind slip into the state to translate it. Satisfied, he stepped up to the gate, and pulled back his hood. Green eyes looked cautiously at its attendants, as he growled out in a fairly high pitched voice "I must request entrance." Ears laying down against his head in embarrassment of his own weakness, he held his shield lightly in his left hand. Clawed fingers held tightly to the leather strap that held it, as he tenses in preparation of any trouble. Humans were unpredictable, and he remembered stories of the time not far past where they joyfully killed Ratzi.

Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week

My Usual Online Time:

9 A.M to 12 P.M - 6 P.M to 1 A.M

Writing Levels:

Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male, Primarily Prefer Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Balanced; more aggressive

Favorite Genres:

Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance,

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Yaoi, Yuri, Pg-13 crap

Orcs. Orcs were very base creatures. They weren't as exotic as their allies the Crocodilians. I mean, did you see the guy across the room? He has some choppers! It was like looking a dinosaur. The hell is cooler than that? He was basically a man-sized T-rex! The only problems he personally had were 1.) They had no balls. Like, literally. There was nothing there. Ruthgar always felt more than a little awkward speaking to them. He was never sure, right away, what gender they were. They didn't like being transgenders. But seriously! Grow something!

Another tail? Something! Its hard to tell with those scales! Buuuut, when it came down to it, Ruthgar always came to the assumption the reason why the males lacked genitals was simply--wouldn't chafe with all those scales? Secondly--the hissing. What was with all the hissing?! Were they always angry? It was hard to discern jokes from threats while watching their tongues do that flapping thing. You either were laughing or preparing for an attack--often times mistaking the two situations. Which proved problematic. You don't attack when you need to, you get your head caved in by a mace. You attack when there's really no need--your head caving in is probably the last thing that would happen.

Always tricky they were.

The Orcs were wild, but they weren't feral. Ratzi were feral. These overgrown sewer rats were, needless to say, they were less than...hospitable. They sometimes cannibalized their own; feeding the stronger ones and weeding out the weaker. This didn't piss the Orcs off so much for being an atrocity--as for meaning less trophy heads to be collected. Bummer, right? But those vermin had been hunted down like the animals they were. The Crocs and the Orcs took great pride tearing them limb from bloody limb.

Orcs weren't feral, but their savagery knew almost no limits. From bashing in their skulls just to prove a point, to sacrificing their captured numbers by the score right there on the field of battle. It enraged the Ratzi,but it blessed the Orcish war tribes. Crocodilians were a proud and mighty race--but Orcs always seemed to inspire dread or ire quicker than most. The Crocodialians looked ferocious, but nothing scared a man quite like an Orc could. Orcs were warmongers. They were built sturdy, and they were built broad. His size surely an indicator of what an Orc was. But it was also the broad that could have split the table in two like chopping mere kindling if he only used a tenth of the strength he had hoist the casket to its beveled edges.

The blade of the axe was deliberately chipped away, creating grooves. Grooves that aced more like the teeth of a saw. The blade didn't slice, it tore, gouged and cleaved its opponents. It wasn't devised for a quick, clean kill. No,Orcs enjoyed fighting far too much for it to end abruptly. Violence was like choosing a mate. You had to have a tight 'grip' on things. Otherwise you'd lose your head in more than one way and not always in a favorable order. Then there was the always the fact that he had numerous scars that marred and already ugly face. Completing it was a broad lower jaw that extended out a bit further from the rest of of his face exposing the two very prominent canines.

I mean, seriously, what Orc doesn't have that feature?

Then the was the scraggly beard that he was scratching all the time. The thin hairs on his seemingly balding head. He wasn't, that too seemed to be an issue with Orcs. Then there was last, but certainly not least the fact he had carmine claw marks all over his upper build from wrestling with a brown bear. Yes, you read that right. He wrestled a brown bear. And yes, he did win.

But the fact he had gaping lacerations on his upper body didn't seem to bother him. In fact, he seemed rather proud of them; posturing himself so that they were clearly visible. Oh boy, the mating ritual had begun.Easy buddy, I don't think she's your type--or...species for that matter.

But did she look at his wounds of glory? No. She looked at his feet, which instinctively, he looked at them too. Hey whatever floats her boat, she's a hot piece of ass. Did you you see that skirt? That's not fair of her. She had the ease of access. All he had was a fur loincloth. Rudimentary, but at least no one was being blinded by his vulgarities--at least for the moment.

"Hmm? Did I step on a rabbit again?" He grumbled, lifting one heavily calloused foot at a time. The bottoms of his feet were tough like leather. "They always run out in front of me. The buggy little bastards."

He began scratching his bearded chin as he inspect his mammoth sized 39 foot. As she slowly climbed his seven foot six stature--his eyes did largely the same. Buuut, they kinda got stuck on the way she had her legs crossed. That...that was distracting.

"Not the best line I have ever heard but it will do just fine if you back it up with that drink!"

Huh. She actually said something back? That's a first. Well then, I didn't plan that far ahead. What to say...

"Erm?" Ruthgar snapped his attention to her eyes. Then he was befuddled. He liked her dark blue eyes too.

Well shit. This was getting complicated! She smelled nice--she was totally hot. Even her eyes were pretty! And Orcs don't worry about eyes, not unless they are tearing them out.

He looked down, it took him a minute to figure things out. The guy's really simple minded. But thats when he noticed the broken glass. He then tapped one of his cracked fingernails against his lips thoughtfully--philosophically for an Orc. He then turned around, looked to and fro then walked up to yet another stranger.

"I need you to go the fuck to sleep." Ruthgar grunted at the man, flaring his nostrils.

"What?" Really? This was a record! A second person other than an Orc or Croc had spoken to him today!

It didn't matter though. The Orc had quickly reached up and swatted the man on the back of his head. It was a light tap really. If a Light tap could conceivably be used to fold a man's body forwards, slam his head off a table and tumble backwards out like a candle. It was the strangest thing. He didn't seem to be exerting much force. But the man's armor did little to impede his descent--the helmet not making the sharp, abrupt 'crack' as his head bounced. The two other men stood up and immediately backed up, startled by the quick dismantlement of one of their group.

He grabbed a mug--any mug would've done. Turning, Ruthgar poured the booze on the man's face. He wasn't waking up for a while. In walking back over to Tandara, he tore the lid away and dunked the wooden pint into the casket then sat the overflowing cup down before her the looked away scratching his cheek.

"Sorry for breakin' your cup der."

So he was he was sorry for spilling her booze, but not for giving a man a concussion. Yes, he was definitely an Orc.​

This user has been banned for: Disruptive behavior, harassment, and inability to heed repeated staff warnings

After watching the orcish seen a smile drew across Tandi's face from left to right and became a full-on grin.

She loooved strong men. ​

This one would do nicely for the night! She had no doubt he was rough and dangerous that was just what she liked in a man. The excitement of not knowing exactly what would come of their 'frolicking'. But she was getting ahead of herself here, most of the fun was the chase, so let him court her, woo her into thinking he was the boss...Tandara picked up the mug he had set on the table and held it up and thanked him for the drink then winked and downed it in one gulp, yes, one gulp, orc-style... Then breathed out an "ahhh!!!" and then burped loudly.

"That is ssoome goood swill there!" She exclaimed as she proffered the mug towards green beast-man for a refill while flashing her eyes and blinking rapidly (men loved that for some reason)and saying, "What's your name sweets?"
Some explanation might be required here, I think. You see, Tandara isn't the run-of-the-mill ordinary young girl. Tandi is a Changeling, a Morpher, a transmuter of flesh as some have called her ilk in the past. They were feared and rooted out and destroyed in many areas of the world. A few managed to ban together here-and-there, many became a part of the Road since they were of a similar nature, secretive and needing concealment. Also, Tandara doesn't age like a human does, she stopped counting around one hundred, it bored her.

An explanation is needed simply because of the faces that were around her as she downed the drink in one gulp and asked for more...from an orc more than twice her size. Their mouths were a-gape waiting for the flies to enter as the shock of it hit them. The maid almost dropped her tray but caught it just in time. This, this twig of a woman dares to...to...

Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.

Favorite Genres:

Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.

Genre You DON'T Like:

Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!

Cirdan let out a soft laugh, carefully eying the person in front of him. In some ways, Abel acted a bit like a child, forward and honest. Yet he didn't feel like a child, and had Cirdan simply passed him on the road he might have even paused to try and get a better impression. But perhaps it was simply that the young man was tired. His energy had been depleted, enough so that he would need a good night's rest to recover. And Cirdan wasn't about to push him. He wasn't that curious. Truths had a way of coming to the surface.

"I've spent the past several years in the Jungles," Cirdan answered calmly, tipping back his hat to reveal a tribal tattoo on his right temple. Some of his light brown hair had been shaved away, leaving only a slight fuzz to cover the part of the tattoo that would normally have been obscured by hair. If Abel had seen the tattoo the last time they met, he would notice the additional symbols outside of the circular tattoo. "It is good to have as many friends as possible. You never know when you might need them."

Almost as though in answer a massive orc who had been hanging in the corner suddenly and loudly announced his presence by knocking out one of bar's patrons and grabbing a mug. "I wouldn't want to fight him to the death," Cirdan continued, tipping his hat back forward over his face and leaning back into his chair.

"You chose an interesting tavern, Abel." Cirdan said with a laugh. Taverns were always active, drink bringing out some of the most enthusiastic aspects within people, but it was rare to find such a variety of people in a small town like Oak Haven.

Blood squished between her toes and she relished in the mixture of warm and cold liquid that was slathered over her skin. She had just killed a wild boar, it had charged her and she had grabbed it, listened to it squeal in rage and then fear, and then she had grasped the top of it's snout as well as the bottom and began to pull. She pulled and pulled until the boars screams sounded like that of an intelligent being. The miserable thing had thrashed in her arms as she ripped it in half. Blood had splattered everywhere and quite a few organs ended up being flung God knows where. Jegrah had left it then. She had no use for it, she didn't really like wild boar. The thing had challenged her and she had taught it a lesson. Simple as that.

When she heard the frightened and helpless squeals, she followed the noise to a little nest of baby boards. Barely able to walk, they wouldn't be able to survive without their recently deceased mother. And so Jegrah decided to bestow some mercy and she ground their little heads into dust.

Although the dried blood made for a very nice tone and shade, the young orc new that she couldn't enter the nearby town, covered in blood, even if it was from a beast. And so she bathed in the nearest stream, quickly of course, she didn't want to spend too much time exposing her achingly small body.

Entering the town was easy enough, the guards gave her some curious looks and she had ignored them. She was used to the looks. Most orcs were massive, but she was the size of a young adult human. Her tusks were small and not noticeable at first glance and her body was exceptionally healthy and so most of her battle scars had healed and faded, leaving light green scars. She had nothing to show for her battles and handy work.

She wanted a drink and maybe a piece of mutton, but the only place that seemed to offer those things was the town's tavern and she didn't want to enter. Taverns were...a vice of hers. As soon as she stepped foot in such a place she was suddenly filled with limitless amounts of rage and aggressiveness. Every smile was aimed at her. Every laugh was because someone was mocking her. To her it seemed as though everyone wanted to fight her, even if that was far from the truth. Her insecurities had gotten her into heaps of trouble before, and she had even gotten thrown out of a few towns. So no, she wouldn't enter the tavern. She would settle for water from a well, and she'd hunt in the forest for meat.

Im fine with both! Normally I would prefer a partner that would be fine with switching between the two with me.

Favorite Genres:

Dark Fantasy, Modern Sci-Fi, Apocalyptic and Horror. (In that order)

Genre You DON'T Like:

Furry, Anime, and some Fandoms.

Smelling the last of the ale in the mug, he finished it off and slammed it down on the bar, growling out "Another!"Alittle wary, the bartender approached the large Crocdilian, and shakily said "That was the last of that ale...We have just opened a fresh barrel of wine if you would like!"Shakily the tavern keeper reached for the empty mug to fill it full of wine, his eyes shifting from the giant, slouching Crocdilian to the giant curved sword that he held tightly in his right hand. Very quick for Keeeen's size, he slammed the sword point into the wood, making a large cracking sound, splitting the wood plank. He fired his hand to the bar keepers throat, his claws grasping into his throat, the sharp points nicking his skin, making several trickles of blood running down Keeeen's claws. Growling lowly "Where did it go Xuth*? Ssspeak quickly human, before I tear you limb from limb and drink your blood!" The slightly drunk Crocdilian released the shaking man, and licked his fingers clean, letting the man know he wasn't bluffing. The speechless man could only point at the giant Orc across the bar. Grasping the hilt of his sword, he freed it from the wooden plank and slung the sword over his shoulder, the dull end resting on his scales. Turning to look at the orc again, two men stumbled into Keeeen, muttering things of the giant orc. At the feet of the orc was another man, in similar armor as the two men who just ran into him. Picking one up by the cloth underneath his armor, he tossed him away as he strutted towards the orc growling out loudly "Green Skin! Fill my mug." Keeeen was to drunk to realize if he said the words friendly, or hostile, but he didn't care....He only wanted another drink.
**Xuth- Swear word used by Elven and Crocdilian language**

"Its well to meet you Ayakashi. You must be a grand warrior if you can defeat twenty nine men in single combat!" Frowning, Kwah heard the sound of thunder growing nearer, and the wind picking up "I do not fear any mortal man foolish enough to try and defile this church! Now do tell me where you are from Ayakashi?" ​

Abel listened to the other male speak and looked like he was kind of confused about the tattoo. He was about to respond when he heard the orc and watched the creature knock someone out. Abel recoiled... That looked like it hurt."Heh... Yeah... I would hate to be up close and personal with an orc. Just the thought is scary."He finished off his sentance with another light laugh.

"Yeah, interesting to say the least, huh? I really only hchose this one because it was the first one I found while I was trudging through the town."He said."And.. That tattoo is the Trial of Orc-hood or whatever tattoo, right? So... That means they accept you or something, right?"He asked softly. He yawned quietly and felt his exhaustion beginning to grow.'Dang... I need to rest. After this I'm going to have to get myself to sleep.'He let out another quiet yawn as he decided to get just a touch more comfortable in his chair and finish off the last little bite of food he had on his plate.

If she had been any other orc, the people milling about near the well would have scattered or at least cleared the way and whispered about her in awe and fear. But she wasn't any other orc. She was just her. And no one was afraid of her.
There were two children playing near the well, and one of them was dangerously close to taking a tumble down the structure and either drowning or cracking his skull. Jegrah grabbed him and yanked him back. The child's eyes were wide as he stared at the orc then at the well then back again. At first Jegrah thought he would dissolve into tears but instead his face split into a grin and when she set him down, he wrapped his pudgy arms around her waist and gave her a hug. The other people near the well, seemed to smile at her and whisper appreciatively about the disaster that she had just averted.
Appreciatively. Not fearfully. Not angrily. Appreciatively.
Jegrah, growled, filled a tin cup with water, gulped it down and stomped away. She found herself in front of the tavern again, but instead of entering. she sat on a crate in front of it and tried to think of what to do next.

Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays

Writing Levels:

Intermediate, Adept

Genders You Prefer Playing:

Male

Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive:

Halfway between? I can sway either way, depending on my mood.

Favorite Genres:

Almost anything pertaining to space, mechas being number one. In addition, I also quite enjoy those based around genetics and such. I also like fantasy, enjoying those involving supernatural/mythical creatures. Modern fantasy are alright, depending on how much of an element the fantasy has.

Genre You DON'T Like:

Modern, because I roleplay to avoid the real world. Anything reflecting everyday life is a no go.

Walking through the lit streets of the village, Strath was well aware of the spectacle he was. Drawing many hateful glares and jeers, he made his way in a direction at random to find somewhere to get some rest. Shouldering his shield into a hold that would allow him to pull it around quickly. Ducking his head closer to his body in an unconsciously defensive stance, he resists the urge to start running, but just barely.

Ears flattened against his skull as his tail lashes about, he finally spots a sign with the near-universal emblem of a tavern. Making to enter, he pulls up short at the sought of the orc
woman. Eyes widening in fear, he immediately sidesteps into one of the shadows near the entrance. Watching the woman, he inwardly curses his kinds inbred tendency to be fearful. Yet, it was an orc. He had heard the stories of their campaigns against his kind.

However, Strath knew that he'd have to face this. Slowly, he exits the safety of the darkness, and begins warily approaching the entrance of the tavern. Caution and apprehension combine in his features, as his grip tightens on the shield he carried.

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